


Childhood

by clintbartonsdog (Marvelous_apparitions)



Category: Ghostbusters (2016), Ghostbusters - All Media Types
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Child Abuse, Derogatory Language, F/F, Fluff and Angst, Foster Care, Gen, Homophobia, Jillian Holtzmann has it rough, Mama Bear Holtzy, Origin Story, Past Child Abuse, Slow Burn, but she ends up with a heart of gold
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-19
Updated: 2017-03-04
Packaged: 2018-09-09 17:17:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8901526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marvelous_apparitions/pseuds/clintbartonsdog
Summary: Based off of my post on tumblr "The Most Important Holtzmann Headcanon".Foster kid Holtz, PTSD Holtz, kid whisperer Holtz. A lot of angst, a lot of  hard-earned fluff. Holtzbert eventually but it's not the focus right now. There'll be a lot of time-hopping here, as this is essentially a journey through as the title says, Jillian Holtzmann's childhood and beyond. **added warning for chapter 5, non-physical child abuse. I'm sorry I keep hurting my darling engineer*.





	1. A Flashback: 1996

**Author's Note:**

> You're 12.  
> You're 12 and you feel 24 and 4 years old all at once.  
> And you want something you can't have,  
> But you don't even know what it is.  
> You are Jillian Holtzmann.  
> Your mom gave you that name when you were born,  
> Before she left, or she died or - you don't know.
> 
> You are Jillian Holtzmann.  
> And it's the only thing you have.

**1996**

_"Please, you need to take her back - "_

"Ma'am, that's not exactly how this works, Jillian has only been with you for a week, you need - "

_"You need to take her back. She's destroyed everything in the house. She's some kind of retard or something. She doesn't talk. She - "_

A sigh, a scoff, the phone crackling. 

_"There isn't enough money in the world for this. She doesn't mix with the other kids. Get her out of my home."_

* * *

 

Jillian scuffed her feet against the pavement, her eyes trained on her tattered bright blue chucks, shoelaces untied. Mrs. Rothfurt, the latest foster parent to take her in and then spit her out, didn't walk with her out the front door or even properly say goodbye. She simply signed all the necessary paperwork, took the proper amount of verbal reprimand from the Group Home Supervisor who had to come out and pick young Jillian up, and then shoved the small blonde none too gently through the front door before slamming it shut. 

"Jillian," the Supervisor murmured, placing her hand on the girl's shoulder, only to remove it when Jillian flinched as if electrocuted, "get in the car, please. When we get back, don't you worry, your own bed is still nicely made for you. I kept that teddy bear you like so much off the shelf a little while longer too, just -

The woman cut herself off as Jillian climbed into the back seat and clicked her seat belt, but Jillian knew the rest of the sentence, she wasn't dumb. Far from it. 

_Just in case. Just in case, Just in -_

"We're here, Jillian. Grab your bag," the supervisor stated, still talking quietly as if afraid to spook her, jolting Jillian out of her repetitive thoughts that must have gone on for the entire 15 minute ride without her realizing it. Jillian unbuckled, grabbed her one tattered backpack stuffed with clothes, a few books and a treasured toolbox, and then followed the woman inside through the main entrance of the bustling, cavernously echoing Home. _Home._ Jillian never was really sure what the word meant apart from Proper Noun: a place where orphans slept. But the sound of a couple dozen children screaming and giggling that bounced off concrete walls and high ceilings, she supposed, was as close as she was ever going to get. 

Sighing, rubbing the back of her neck nervously and adjusting her large backpack to spread the weight more evenly across her shoulders, Jillian wandered away from the Supervisor, studiously ignoring the pitying look she got from her in lieu of a farewell. She headed down the wide tiled hallway until she found the room marked "12-B" and entered, throwing her bag on the bottom bed located on the left side of the room and grunting a "hey" to her bunk-mate Rebecca, who was sitting with her legs swinging on the bed above.  She threw herself down onto the mattress, and watched the feet go back and forth, back and forth, back and forth...

"What was it this time, Jilly?" Rebecca asked eventually from above, feet still swinging absently, "they cook awful?"

Jillian cracked a tentative smile, lunged forward and grabbed at one of the girl's ankles, causing her to let out a playful screech,   
  
"This time? Shit, this time I ran away because the entire house smelled like moldy, cheesy socks."

"Ew," Rebecca whined through high giggles, scooting back further onto her bunk and pulling her legs away from her friend ( _sister? Jillian wondered, ever since Rebecca moved into her room a year ago. Was this what it was like to have -_ ) "Jill, Jesus, you're so gross."

Jillian laughed, tried to ignore the lump in her throat. She laid down and reached for the teddy bear that was - as promised- still on her pillow, and she rolled over onto her side and closed her eyes and didn't speak or move again for the rest of the day. Even though it was only 3 PM, six and a half hours before lights out. 

* * *

Rebecca was picked up by a foster family three weeks later. And she never came back. But still, at least she said goodbye, before.   
At least she said goodbye. 

"What is it this time, Jilly?" Jillian said aloud to herself cynically, her voice echoing awkwardly in the narrow, empty dormitory.

_This time I'm alone. I'm alone. I'm -_

Alone.

 


	2. A Flashback: 2000

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You're 16  
> And you still have the first birthday card  
> you ever received  
> hanging up in your locker.  
> It was from your 7th grade Science teacher and god...  
> God how you loved her.  
> You loved her.  
> Though you weren't quite sure what love was yet.  
> You weren't sure -  
> Until you touched your first  
> circuit board. And then -  
> then. The electricity of it....

**2000**

_"Hey, kid - Kid. I'm real sorry but you have to go home now._

_It's closing time._

_Doncha got anywhere else you need to be?"_

* * *

Jillian and the head janitor, who told her it was just fine if she simply called him "Carl", well - they had a deal, you see? Jillian could stay in the wood shop and technology room as long as she wanted after school ended, and he wouldn't bug her about it, in fact he'd usually clean around her as if she wasn't even there, as she toyed with her latest circuitry project or sanded down a fresh piece of the bookshelf she was building (mostly just to keep her hands busy, while she thought about other more important things, like how to get a scholarship to MIT, or how to make friends when she had no place to host sleepovers).

When it got to be around 5 o'clock and it was time for him to go onto cleaning the next school down the street, they'd smile at each other sadly and Jillian would shove her wrench, a bit of wire and her books back into her bag, and they'd walk out the back doors together and part ways. Jillian really liked Carl. She wasn't sure if he was what a father felt like, but she liked the safety of seeing his smile every evening, liked the smell of pine sol that filled the room when he mopped the floors each day. 

On this particular Thursday, Jillian decided to take the long way back to the Home, which didn't really mean she'd change her route at all, but instead involved skipping the subway or the bus in favor of saving her 2 dollar allowance from the nuns and spending it on ice-cream at the corner of 26th and 5th, at a little place called Benny's. She sighed and counted the scuff marks on her newest (still pretty old) pair of chucks as she waited in line and daydreamed about the girl who sat next to her in AB Calculus. She wondered if she would kiss her, if she winked at her just right. 

(Jillian got her first kiss at lunch in the hallway last month by winking at the cute redheaded freshman who liked to stare at her from behind the pillars in the cafeteria. The attention made the back of her neck burn. But the girl never looked at her or spoke to her again. She wondered if it was the taste of her lips, or because even after they kissed, she didn't say anything. She liked her. But she couldn't say it! Jillian hardly could ever think of the right thing to say.)

"Hey, orphan, watch it!" 

She flinched as a boy she recognized vaguely from her grade shoved her forward with a nasty sneer. The line had started to move, she was up next and hardly even noticed.

"H - hi," she stuttered, ignoring the boy's cruel chuckle in favor of staring at the flavor board behind the cashier's head, "can I have um. A pistachio flavor in the sugar cone please?"

She waited for her order and ran through the numbers of pi in her head, rocking back and forth on the balls of her feet. She was 37 digits in exactly when her cone was handed to her and she got to leave Benny's and return to the street. Half a mile up the road, then, she found a nice enough bench and sat there enjoying her ice cream for at least a half hour, watching people walk dogs past her, watching them speed past on bikes, watching moms push strollers or yell at their toddlers who they dragged along by the hand -

Jillian felt sick, and threw the rest of her cone away, even though there was only two bites left of it. 

_I wish I was home, I wish I was home, I wish I was -_

was the nervous mantra in her head, even though she didn't really know what home was. 

When she got back to the Home, she climbed up onto the top bunk and kicked her shoes off and started her homework, not even acknowledging Chloe, her roommate of the past few months.

She sighed, squinting at the tiny lettering of her history book. 

At least with her roommates switching so much lately, she got to change which part of the bunk bed she wanted all the time. That was... fun. 

_Ugh, Jillian,_ she thought, _quit lying to yourself._

_Grow up,_

she begged, willing herself to feel nothing, to be invincible like Captain America,

_Jilly...._ _Grow up._

 

 

 


	3. August 2016

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You're fine.  
> Really.  
> But you're still a bit of an ass on Mother's day,  
> Father's day. Reclusive.  
> Up until now, you've always let people believe  
> what they wanted.  
> Whatever was easiest.  
> Your parents were dead.  
> They abandoned you, couldn't agree with you,  
> your being gay. "Eccentric".  
> But you never mentioned it.  
> Never could stomach admitting  
> you had no family at all. 
> 
> Until you found one.  
> Your very own.

_"Jill - Uh, Holtzmann -_

_"You didn't need to follow me outside, Gilbert, I'm fine. Really."_

_"That speech...it really. It really was something. I- we love you too, you know."_

_"It was, huuhg, nothing. I'm really. happy to have you guys."  
_

_"And we're so, so happy to have you."_

_..._

_"Yeah. Uh. Um. Last one back in is a rotten egg! You can't catch me, E!_

_Next pitcher of booze is on this Nuclear mad scientist right he-eere! WOO!"_

* * *

Holtzmann shook herself out of her thoughts about that fateful, world saving night when she heard the sound of the front door opening downstairs with its telltale heavy clang. And then the sound of Patty talking to someone, not that she could understand a word being said from such a distance. She shrugged to herself, turned her blutooth speaker that rested safely in the corner on with a flick of her phone, and found her 'Modern Jams' playlist, bopping her head happily to Lady Gaga as she unscrewed the back of her proton pack, intending to deactivate it temporarily and fix some faulty wiring in the hull. She was just tossing the loose nuts and bolts into a nearby paint can for safe-keeping and beginning to lift the thick sheet of metal when she heard a loud cough, and looked up to see Patty standing next to...a kid? 

She blinked, scrambled for her phone and turned the volume down, and then continued to stand there, unsure, blinking. 

"Holtzy, Baby," Patty began, tenderly, mindful of the young audience at her hip, "we have a visitor who says he'd really like a tour. For his school project he decided to do on ghost technology! Isn't that bad-a...cool! Isn't that so cool?" 

Holtz beamed, then, suddenly overcome with a wave of pride and protectiveness she couldn't yet begin to understand. "Shoot, that is freakin' cool!" She exclaimed genuinely, coming out from behind her bench and crouching in front of the boy by Patty's feet, extending her hand, "It's an honor, little big man! What's your name?" 

"Mikey," he whispered shyly, but surprised both ghostbusters when he took Holtzmann's offered hand and shook, "this place is the awesomest thing I've seen in my entire life and I'm already 9." Patty and Holtzmann shared a bit of a worried frown when the boy stated his age, noting his small stature and overall scrawniness, but Holtz shook off her worry for the moment with another smile and stood back up, telling Patty, "I think I can take it from here. I need an assistant in deactivating this ol' proton pack here anyway," she added, playing for casual and totally loving it when Mikey began hopping up and down in excitement, "Really? Really Doctor Holtzmann? Oh my god that's so cool! This is so cool!" scrambling after her, following her to behind her bench. She motioned for him to stay put almost sternly, and then she pulled a little rusted step stool for him to stand on out from a giant pile of what looked like random junk, but she (and only she) knew better, placing it carefully beside him and asking permission to touch him before hoisting him onto it by the armpits, making him laugh, startled.

Patty watched from the entryway, bemused and oddly endeared by the whole scene. She knew they had a time limit to this little tour, though, and decided to interrupt and tell Holtz sooner rather than later. Walking over, she leaned in behind Holtz and whispered into her ear,

"The little boy's caretaker from the home he lives in says we have a half hour before they both have to be back for dinner."

Holtzmann froze, halfway to handing a small screwdriver to the boy, her mind somersaulting backwards against her will, her feet glued to the spot and her eyes flicking back and forth as she scanned the room _for someplace safe to hide, anyplace to get away from the mean boys that lurked in the halls after meals, anyplace to keep her away from trouble, to keep the supervisors from getting mad at her like that one time she unwired the TV set and couldn't put it back together fast enough before cartoon hour, and all the other kids got so mad and she got no dinner, got sent to her room, and what if she got sent back to Mrs. Ro -_

"Holtzy, Holtz! Honey...are you okay?" Patty's hand was on her shoulder, squeezing firmly and shaking her a little. Suddenly her eyes were back into focus, and all she could see was a confused little boy and a very nervous friend looking at her in concern. She flushed, stammering, "y-yeah, I'm fine. Just, thought of something I really need to check up on in the containment unit tonight before it's too late, haha! Where were we, Mikey-Mike?"

Patty looked unconvinced, but relented when Holtz gave her a reassuring smile and a wink. She removed her hand from the engineer's shoulder, only walking away when she heard Holtz began to talk animatedly to the kid,

"so what we're going to do here is first carefully, carefully lift this sheet of metal and slide it to the left so the opening is uncovered, and then do you see that blue wire? I'm gonna cut it, you're gonna hold the metal steady so it doesn't fall and hit my hand, that's an important job, especially because these hands are the only ones that know how to fix Erin and Abby and Patty's super awesometastic equipment! And then - 

* * *

 

When the half hour was almost up, Holtzmann had finished showing Mikey the proton pack repair, and had given him the safe, speedy version of her lab-tour. She had also answered a few questions he had about ghosts and given him a tip or two on proper scientific writing - something she knew was a little above his level yet, so she simplified it, of course. When they were walking down the stairs, Holtz didn't miss the fond, surprised look Erin leveled her with from the kitchen, and with Patty nowhere in sight, she knew she'd be explaining the whole story shortly. The Home supervisor was standing in the doorway, aloof and hard-edged in a way that made Holtz extremely nervous, so she forced a grin and said her rehearsed little piece - she'd been thinking about how to phrase it since coming out of her flashback - when they got to the final stair.

"Hey," she cleared her throat, awkwardly, and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, looking down to meet his eyes, "I grew up in a Home as well. For...well, for awhile, little man. And I turned out to be someone brave and smart enough to help save the world with my friends. And you're smart too, you got that?" Shifting on the balls of her feet, she pulled a crinkled post-it note out of her back pocket, pressed it against the wall and scribbled something onto it quickly with her pen,

"Email me whenever you have a science question, ok? I'll always answer. You were a good lab partner today, Mikey." She put her hand down and forward to shake his again, and Mikey absolutely glowed from the praise, shaking back with a new strength,   
  
"Thank you Doctor Holtzmann," He said, smiling brightly, a smile that only dimmed when he looked away from her and saw his supervisor watching them from afar. Holtz noticed the change and tried not to wince, releasing his hand and clapping him gamely on the shoulder instead, gently leading him away from her and towards the older woman at the door.

She didn't have the courage or the desire to walk with him to that woman, felt shame bubble up within her but pushed it back down as she watched him go, deciding it couldn't be faced. Not just yet. She wasn't ready, not so soon after that hell of a flashback, her first in many years. 

Swallowing a lump in her throat, ignoring the sensation of Erin's eyes on her, she called out as the front door closed, "I want to see that paper when it's done!" And she hoped she wasn't too late. In a lot of ways. 

She hoped, god, she hoped.

 


	4. A Flashback: 2004 - 2006

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You've met the love of your life -  
> You tell yourself.  
> And it's science.  
> You still can't really hold onto a girl  
> for more than a night  
> but blueprints  
> and active fires  
> and math  
> you can - you can  
> be someone  
> you can show them.  
> you can - and
> 
> You did.  
> You graduated undergrad in 3 years.  
> You'll show MIT, too, now.  
> You're gonna be somebody,  
> Jillian.  
> You're gonna be -  
> fine.

                                                                 **2004**

_"Dr. - uh. Fuck. Sorry, the swearing just. Are you Dr. Rebecca Gorin?"_

_"You must be my new lab assistant. Jillian Holtzmann, is it?"_

_"I have read everything you've ever written. Um."_  


_"Hm. I've written plenty."_

Shifting feet. Then eye contact. Flashing blue.

_"Everything."_

* * *

_Six Months Later -_ **early 2005**

_"_ Doc! Doctor G!" Shit. Fuck. Holtzmann laughed freely to herself as the reactor she was working on began to spark and vibrate before her. She jumped back and grabbed a pair of thick rubber gloves from the nearest shelf, before jumping forward again and grabbing onto the small machine with both of her hands, pinning it to the metallic table like a bucking bronco.

"This sonofaBee has a kick, Dr. G!" She called out again, her voice echoing out through the multi-level labratory, "I could use two - " a quick mutter to herself of "well ideally four, really" - "I could use two more hands!!!"

Holtz grinned triumphantly when Rebecca came walking at a determined pace down the spiral staircase to the left of her, hands already gloved. Gorin held the machine down tightly while Holtz doused the sparks with a flame retardant foam before shutting the whole thing off. When Jillian turned to look at her mentor she was met with a hard, searching look. She cowed under the attention, knees vibrating with excitement still as she ducked her head and shrugged,

"I got carried away again, I think" she said mildly, meeting Dr. Gorin's eyes only when she heard a barely held back snort. To her delight, the tight lipped frown on the older woman's face had been replaced with a grin.

"A little bit, my firecracker," she teased, though the unwavering reproach of her voice, to an untrained ear, would not have sounded joking at all, "but I love it. Let's work with it. How many volts did you input into the machine before you released the clip - would 5 less be safe, do you think?"

Holtz perked up completely as if struck by a live-wire of her own, "it could! Maybe if - and then - !!" She made a move to go run off and grab more tools, some blueprints to re-calibrate and muse over, perhaps, but Dr. Gorin took her gently by the wrist, stopping her in her tracks,  
  
"Why don't I help you, Jillian. Lets see if we can figure this out together, hmm?"

The admiration shining in the blonde engineer's face as her mentor smiled down at her could have rivaled the sun.  

* * *

                    **2006**

Holtzmann subconsciously leaned into Rebecca as they stood in the wings of the stage, adjusting her uncharacteristic black tie nervously.    
  
_You can do this, You can do this, you can -_

was the mantra running through her busy mind as the regal-looking gentleman at the podium spoke in detail about the potential future of hers and Rebecca's groundbreaking miniature particle reactor technology. There were a lot of people out there in the crowd, sitting prim and proper and  _impressed_ as the director of the science museum spoke with an odd mix of boredom and fervor, the kind of combo only academics could seem to attain, the kind Jillian was never good at, she was always all the way on or shutting down, then completely off, toneless. She hoped she wouldn't be that way tonight, in front of all those people, she hoped -

She shook her head out of her distractions, smiling up at Dr. Gorin as the speech on stage finally began to wind down, and then.

Oh, and then:

"It is with great pride and a tinge of academic envy" - cue the correct amount of laughter here, from the crowd, quickly simmered down - "that I present this year's National Award of Nuclear Science and History for achievement in the field to Dr. Rebecca Gorin and, the youngest recipient yet of this ward, Doctoral candidate, Ms. Jillian Holtzmann."

The polite clapping of hundreds sounded more like a roar in her ears as she walked out of the shadows. Overwhelming, earth-shattering. Terrifying. Sonicly beautiful. 

She stood before a large group of people and for the first time - even with all the scrutiny, all of the eyes on her -

she felt in a beautiful rush what she thought might be called pride. 

* * *

 When Rebecca walked her to her hotel room much later in that mysterious city, pulled her in for a stiff hug and whispered in her ear,

"I'm proud of you, kid."

She felt pride for sure, then. She felt it and she cried. She cried herself to sleep.

 

 

She fell asleep smiling.

 

 

 


	5. A Flashback: 1992

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You're 8.  
> You think you're 8.   
> You've been in this house for awhile now,   
> the longest yet,  
> But you're not sure   
> that you exist  
> At all.  
> Jillian Holtzmann,  
> the name barely leaves   
> anyone's mouth.  
> Kid,  
> small fry,  
> loser,  
> dyke;  
> Jillian   
> Jillian  
> Jillian -
> 
> Jillian. 
> 
> Be strong.

                        _"You're the weird one, small fry."_  
  


_"Hah! Good one Alec!"_

_"Small fry Small fry small -"_

_"Hey Kid! Did you mess with the microwave again? COME HERE!"_

                                                                                                        Blue eyes gone dull. 

* * *

 

Jillian never knew where she stood at the Tiller's house. Some nights were quiet. Those were the nights Mr. Tiller didn't come home.   
Or passed out on the floor silently, while everyone else slept unaware. Either one. 

She sat at the kitchen table, kicking her feet that dangled from the tall wooden chair, trying her best to enjoy all of the nothing. All of the alone. As she liked to call it, the "None". 

Crunching on brightly colored cereal and wondering where Mr. Tiller was. Wondering why he was so happy early some mornings, some others, messy and grumpy and ready to snap at the drop of a crumb. 

_Don't get crumbs on the floor, Jilly,_ she thought, reminded herself. If he comes in through that front door and gets cereal crumbs on his bare feet again - he - no. She violently shook her head at the thought, as if she could set it free, a buzzing bee leaving out her ear, never to return. 

She tried to enjoy the rest of her food, before she hopped down from the chair and began lifting all the small appliances up, on her tip-toes to reach the counter, checking for screws that could easily be taken out and put back in before 7am hit in an hour, and all the other kids and Mrs. Tiller woke up for school. She just wanted to see how things worked. She wanted to feel the hum of metal on her fingers, the cut of plastic, the tickle of thin wire when it grazed her thumb.

The important thing was to never ever get caught. She learned, she learned.

Every day she was learning at the Tiller house. 

Every day, she quietly wished before she got up, that she would open her eyes, and she'd be back at the Home. 

She hated it there - she never thought she'd wish that before. 

But Mr. Tiller - Mr. Tiller - he -

Jillian shook her head again, shoulder length straggly blonde hair falling into her blue eyes. Making them sting. That was it.

She wasn't crying at all. 

* * *

 

"HEY DYKE! GET OVER HERE!"

Jillian flinched and jumped off her bed. Didn't know what the word meant, but knew when he yelled it - it was about her. 

Most of the time when he yelled, unless any of the boys broke something important - 

Always, always about her.

She trip-ran down the stairs and presented herself, small and frail and shaking terribly in front of the couch. Where he sat. A GI Joe doll in his hands. She bit her lip. She wouldn't start crying yet, 

_Don't cry yet, don't cry yet, don't -_

"Andrew said he had to come find this in your room, dyke" Mr. Tiller slurred, Jillian ducked her head and began the routine furtive search for bottles at his feet. It was 11am. Already there were four. The big kind. Whatever they were. 

They were bad. That was all she knew. 

"You unhappy with the toys we provide for you, girl?" He snarled, chucking the doll just barely over her head. "Or are they too," here he spat at her, as he bit out the word, "NORMAL for you."

"I'm sorry, sir" she mumbled quickly, wishing she could run, wishing she could run and run and run and -

"What?" He asked, suddenly sounding all too calm, the threat behind the easy lilt of his voice all the more alarming for the speed in which it changed. Unpredictable. She thought, _monster._ And immediately felt guilty for the thought.

"What was that, girl?" 

Jillian held her head high. Looked into his red eyes. Said it like she meant it,  
"I'm sorry sir."

Strong and steady. Pretending to be just like GI Joe. 

Her voice so high and small. And she tries to run -

Run, Jilly.

But he calls her back before to long. She's to the stairs when he yells, amicable again. And she hates him.

Guilty guilty guilty.

"Hey Jill! Grab me a cold one from the fridge, will you?"

\-----

So 5 bottles on the floor, then. One small. 

* * *

 

Jillian wants none of this.   
She's been in this house for almost a year now, maybe. Or was it only 4 months?

Every day blurs and blurs until she's never sure when she's asleep, when she's waking up. 

  
She doesn't want her "brothers" teasing her, kicking her when she's down, stealing all the tools she found in the shed, threatening her with them.

She doesn't want to see Mrs. Tiller crying anymore. Mrs. Tiller who seems sweet but pretends Jillian doesn't exist. 

Jillian doesn't want Mr. Tiller to come near her ever again. He never touches her. But the way he raises his hand, laughs at her flinching away,...like he knows he can. 

Jillian wants none of this.   
  


None.   
None.  
None.

* * *

 

When the System finally finds out about Lou Tiller's drinking problem, all 3 kids - two loud, healthy boys, one underfed, near silent girl - get taken out of the house. So quickly Jillian is sure her favorite screwdriver - the pocket-sized one she hid under her pillow for safe keeping (and in case he ever came to hurt her, her brain whispers, betrays her) - gets left behind in the whirl.   
  
She doesn't realize until later. She still hardly cares when she does. 

She hugs the young, stern looking social worker who comes to pick her up, in the car she recognizes from the Home. Her "home".

She's never hugged any of them before. Never showed any sort of affection. All she'll remember in the years to come is that the woman kept her arms stiff at her sides. Shocked, uncertain. 

Unwanted, unwanted Jillian. 

Jillian who finally gets to go - well, sort of -

home. 

* * *

A state issued bunk bed never felt so warm. 

 


End file.
